Aleksei hisses. “Fuck, that hurts.”
The man doing his ink glances up at him and presses the needle in harder. Aleksei keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t complain anymore.
“I saw two new Ducatis being delivered this morning. I never got a fucking Ducati for my birthday,” Pytor grumbles from his stool across from us.
I miss Mama the most on our birthdays. It’s a hard day for me, and I’d rather spend it alone, but Mrs. Petrov tends to go over-the-top with the birthday party planning, and I don’t have the heart to disappoint her by not showing up.
“For real?Ow! Fuck!Stop doing that!” Aleksei says to the guy, who’s clearly enjoying torturing him.
“Then stop moving, you little shit, unless you want this star to look like an eighty-year-old man’s wanker.”
That’s the first time he’s spoken since we arrived. His accent is definitely British, and I dislike him for that alone because his voice sounds too much like Hendrix Knight’s.
Settling back, a wicked grin curves Aleksei’s mouth. “I’m celebrating the big two-one with my head buried between Sasha’s long legs.”
My brother, the manwhore.
The guy swiftly lifts his tattoo gun when Pyotr punches Aleksei’s shoulder. “That’s my cousin, asshole.”
“Your very sexy cousin.”
“Who you will not kiss, touch, or fuck, unless you want her father butchering your ass into a million pieces.”
“Worth it,” Aleksei replies.
Pyotr taps my shoulder. “Summer vacay is almost over, and we haven’t gone anywhere. I refuse to start my junior year at DF without at least spending a week at the beach before we head back.”
“Beach trip sounds like a fucking good idea to me,” Aleksei pipes in.
I don’t even want to think about Darlington right now. Summer is the only respite I get from seeing Tristan, Constantine, and Hendrix every fucking day when we’re on campus.
X sits up and cracks his neck. “Done.”
Pyotr examines the finished design, then nods his approval. “Awesome job, as always. Thanks, X.”
“Can you do one more?” I ask when he starts to pull off his nitrile gloves.
Aleksei looks at me like I’m insane. “Where the fuck do you think he’s going to put it? Your dick?”
He has a point. I’m practically covered from neck to ankle, my body a canvas of colorful artwork. It’s therapeutic for me. Sitting in this chair is a way to hush the chaotic noise in my brain, even if for only a few hours.
“Where?” X asks.
I hold out my hands. “ANGEL on the left, DEVIL on the right. Serif font.”
“That’s so lame,” my brother says, but X just shrugs and puts on a pair of clean gloves.
The bell above the parlor door chimes, and Drako Petrov enters, his intimidating size and larger-than-life presence making the space suddenly feel smaller.
“I need to speak with Aleksander.”
His stern tone is all it takes to start clearing the room. X and the Brit immediately stop what they’re doing and walk out.
In the eight years since I lost everything, Drako Petrov has been more of a father to me than the man who had raised me. He treats Aleksei and me no differently than he treats his own son. While living with the Petrovs, I learned the true meaning of family, and it makes me hate Nikolai Stepanoff even more.He didn’t know Aleksei and I weren’t really his, and yet, he still treated us like dogs. The only love he showed us came with bruises and broken bones.
“What’s going on?” Pyotr queries his father.
“You and Aleksei go back to the house.”
